Shot Through Velvet (33 page)

“Wiedemeyer. Harlan Wiedemeyer.” The death and dismemberment reporter was wary of the big cop, mostly because of Felicity. She flirted using food the way other women batted their eyelashes or flashed a leg. And both big, burly Broadway Lamont and plump little Wiedemeyer were very fond of food. They sized each other up.

The three of them sat down in the large white leather chairs around the long mahogany table in the conference room. Meanwhile, back in Pojack’s office, police technicians collected evidence and took photos of the deceased. Lacey could hear them working.

“What can you tell me, Smithsonian? Any
fashion
clues?” Lamont smirked at her.

“The dead man is clutching a blue velvet ribbon in his hand.”

Broadway Lamont’s mouth dropped open. “A what? A blue velvet ribbon? Blue, as in the same shade as Rodney Gibbs?” He rubbed his eyes with both hands. “You saying this is connected to the velvet murder and you couldn’t produce another blue dye job? I’m disappointed.”

“I don’t produce anything but the facts,” Lacey snapped. She sat back in the chair and told Lamont about the velvet ribbon that Claudia had received, and the one that was dropped into Rod Gibbs’s coffin. Lacey made a mental note to try to check on the congressman’s recent mail.

Lamont scratched his head. “So, I might be getting another call from your trooper Mordecai Caine?”

“Possibly. And he’s not my trooper.”

“Anyone else up here, besides you two and the vic?”

“Claudia Darnell was here earlier,” Wiedemeyer offered. “Publisher of
The Eye
.”

“Darnell have any reason to rid the world of this Pojack fellow?”

“Sure she did,” Wiedemeyer said. “Everyone did. He was a weasel. Selling out the company. He was a solid-gold bastard. Or scratch that. More like a rusted-out, diseased bastard. So Claudia had as much or more reason to kill him as anyone.”

Lacey tried to give Wiedemeyer a look that said
Stop already
!

“What, Lacey?” Wiedemeyer said.

Lamont spun around on Lacey. “What do you know? You see Ms. Darnell today?”

“No, I didn’t see her.” Lacey suddenly remembered the voice-activated tape recorder in her jacket pocket and shut it off.

“What’s that?” Lamont demanded.

“Um,” she hedged. “Nothing.”

“Don’t try my patience, Smithsonian.”

“It’s a tape recorder.” She pulled it out. The detective’s eyes narrowed. “I brought it to my meeting with Pojack to record whatever he was going to say. Self-defense.”

“You were going to tape him without his knowledge. Is that it? Something that is illegal in the District of Columbia?”

Lacey smiled. Pojack couldn’t say anything now, pro or con. “Heavens no, Detective. Journalists are always on the record. Everyone knows that.”

“I suppose that machine will back up everything you and Weinermeyer here been telling me?”

“Oh, yeah, sure it will.” She was beginning to feel on more solid ground. She popped the tape out of the recorder and handed it to him.

“Figures.” Lamont eyed the tape glumly. “So, matter of curiosity. Why’d this Pojack want to get rid of you?”

“He didn’t like me. He didn’t like my fashion coverage. He thought my beat was frivolous.”

“Ha. I’m surprised you didn’t tell him it was life-or-death with you, Smithsonian.” He sighed.

“Anything else?”

“Not now. Get out of here. Be sure you answer my calls. Day or night.”

Vic was waiting at the door of the conference room. Lacey didn’t know how he made it upstairs past the blue line of cops, but she didn’t care. He was in jeans and a dark blue sweater under a sheepskin jacket. She thought he was the best thing she’d ever seen. He hugged her right off her feet.

“You’ll keep her out of trouble?” Lamont asked, just to irritate Lacey.

“I can’t promise that, Detective.”

“Then just get her out of here, Donovan. For now, Smithsonian, day or night, I got a question, you answer it.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Always a pleasure, Broadway.”

“Smart-ass reporter. You too, Weinermeyer.”

“Wiedemeyer,”
the little reporter spat. “Spelling counts in my business, Detective.”

Wiedemeyer glanced toward the door and his eyes lit up. Waiting in the wings was his Felicity, tearful but happy to see him, and dusted with flour. She’d broken out an eye-popping pink-sequined Valentine sweater, hearts and all, delivered straight from Cupid’s love lair. The sweater was too much of a good thing, Lacey thought, especially with two or three layers of ruffles at the neckline. As Felicity flounced, her ruffles bounced—and revealed a dark smudge on her neck. Maybe chocolate?

No,
Lacey decided,
that’s no smudge. That’s a love bite!
It was no wonder; they’d been getting romantic. Harlan had been dancing around Felicity like a love-crazed Cupid. Lacey smiled at the image.

“Why, Miss Felicity Pickles, is that a hickey on your neck I see, or a fingerprint?” asked Lamont. “You two think you’re a couple of teenagers?”

“A what? Oh!” Felicity’s hand flew up to her neck. She pulled frantically at the ruffles to conceal her mark of shame. Harlan’s face turned a perilous shade of purple, and he looked a little stricken at being caught. And a little proud too. He and Felicity shared a quick guilty smile.

Lamont rumbled with laughter. He looked as if he were suddenly wondering whether Felicity might be as delicious as her desserts.

“Now then. You got anything for a starving man?”

Felicity’s eyes glistened as she gazed up at Lamont. “Well, I just finished a new recipe and I was going to let Harlan test-drive it. With Valentine’s Day coming up, our readers want the food of love. I think you need a little of that too, Detective Lamont. Don’t you?”

Lamont beamed. Lacey wanted to gag, but she realized Felicity was cleverly offering Broadway Lamont a bribe that would leave no evidence.

A get-out-of-jail-free cake.

Chapter 30

Detective Lamont shot a glance at a nervous Wiedemeyer, who was shifting his weight from foot to foot. At the moment, he didn’t much care for Broadway Lamont, who was leering at his fiancée. But under the circumstances, Wiedemeyer was willing to share. He clapped his hands.

“Why not?” Wiedemeyer said. “Now, tell me, my delectable Dilly Pickles, what is your latest masterpiece?”

“A double-chocolate torte with pink raspberry-almond filling, spread over a layer of chocolate ganache,” Felicity purred. “It does take some effort, but I think everyone will agree that it’s worth it. For the one you love.”

It certainly would be worth it,
Lacey thought,
if it softens up Broadway Lamont
.

Indeed, Lamont looked a little happier. “Lead the way, Miss Pickles. Let’s investigate that cake while I consider your boyfriend’s story.”

“My story? I’ll always remember this as the day my death and dismemberment beat came to me,” Wiedemeyer said philosophically. “But cake would sweeten the deal.”

Lamont, Lacey, Vic, Harlan, and Felicity trooped down to the newsroom and Felicity’s desk, where her latest calorie-filled creation was on display. It was a large many-layered thing with pink whipped cream frosting. Broadway’s eyes lit up as Felicity carved out an extra-large piece of cake for him.

“Lacey, Vic, will you try some too?”

“No, thanks, Felicity. But it looks delicious,” Lacey said.

“I’ll give you the recipe. Before it’s even published.” Felicity pushed a copy into Lacey’s hands.

Vic wrapped his arm around Lacey’s shoulders and led her away from the others, behind a file cabinet. “Let them eat cake,” she said.

“When you told me a body was found at
The Eye
, my heart stopped.” He held her very tight.

“It was touch and go for mine.”

“I don’t like this, the killer being so close to you.”

“I don’t like it much either.” Lacey’s shoulders slumped against his chest.

“You want to talk about it?”

Lacey put her arms around him and held on tight for a moment. “Not really. Can we get out of here? This is Tony’s story now.”

She picked up her coat and bag from her desk, ducking the curious reporters milling around the newsroom. But Lacey and Vic were too fast for them. She crossed paths with Trujillo, who stopped her long enough for a quick statement. Mac wasn’t around or answering his cell, but the weekend city editor wanted this story on the paper’s Web site ASAP.

“You have to give me something to work with, Lacey.” Tony stopped her escape. “I already had a
Post
reporter call me. We can’t let the enemy get something we don’t have, on a murder in our own building! Pojack wasn’t really one of us, but then again, he was, in a way.”

“I can’t tell you anything. Broadway Lamont would have my head. However, why don’t you ask Lamont if there is a blue velvet connection to the death in Black Martin, Virginia?” Lacey said. “Okay?”

Tony smiled. “Blue velvet connection. Got it.” He sprinted toward the newsroom. Lacey and Vic made their escape in the opposite direction.

Lacey wouldn’t feel secure until she was in her car, period. It was Saturday, and her vintage BMW was in front of
The Eye
, safe from the tenacious meter readers, the most efficient arm of the D.C. police department. But she’d never say that to Broadway Lamont. The twilight sky looked like sapphire silk and the air smelled like snow. Lacey breathed it in as if she’d been underwater. She spotted a vehicle idling across the street. It was huge and pink and had majestic pink fins. It was a rare 1957 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz.

The driver, Vic’s mother, Nadine, was a no-nonsense cowgirl from Nevada who had married a Virginian and had mostly adapted to Washington ways. Now the image of an elegant East Coast matron, Nadine’s wild side slipped out in subtle ways, like when she took the wheel of her Cadillac, her pink pride and joy. Wherever she went, men gathered to stare at her car. And her. She adored the attention.

“You didn’t tell me you left your mother waiting outside,” Lacey said. “In her pink Batmobile.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Lacey jabbed him in the arm. “Very funny. What’s she doing here?”

The woman in the car popped out and waved them over. Vic talked fast as they crossed the street. “She stopped at my place to ask about the party she’s planning. She was there when I got your call. I had her drive me here so I can drive you home. And she wants to talk to you.”

“Of course she does. It’s that kind of day.” Lacey liked Nadine, but now was not the time for a motherly chat.

They crossed the street, and Nadine gave Lacey a hug. “I won’t pump you for information now, my dear—I know you’ve had a hard day. But eventually, I want all the details. Vic just gives me the glossy-magazine version of events.”

“Thanks, Nadine. I can take it from here,” Vic said.

“Just one thing, Lacey. Sean Victor won’t give me a straight answer,” Nadine complained. “Are you or are you not coming to my Valentine party?”

“I’m not really the Valentine-party type,” Lacey said.

“It’s a tradition in my neighborhood. Lots of fun. Vic will be there. And I know you don’t want to disappoint me.” Nadine wore a wicked smirk that said she knew when she had won. Lacey was trapped.

“Me? No, I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone. Except myself.”

“I hate to exert pressure simply because I’m the mother of your boyfriend, but I will if necessary. With affection.”

“I can’t be held responsible if bad things happen,” Lacey said. “I have bad luck with Valentine’s Day.”

“Don’t worry about a thing.” As mothers went, Nadine was pretty good, Lacey reflected, and not nearly so hard to handle as Lady Gwendolyn Griffin. “Then it’s settled? All the ladies are wearing red or pink, but that’s all spelled out on the invitation.” She pulled one out of the pocket of her pink designer peacoat and handed it to Lacey. “And I would never insist, but if you wanted to make one of your spectacular desserts, I surely wouldn’t complain.”

Lacey told herself she should never have made that first dessert at Thanksgiving. “What did you have in mind?”

“You’re the expert.”

“Oh no. Not me. But I saw something today that Vic and I could make. Together,” Lacey said.

Vic’s eyebrows rose in alarm. Not Felicity’s monstrous dessert? “Or we could always just pick up something at Bread and Chocolate.”

“How does a double-chocolate torte with a raspberry-almond filling and layers of chocolate ganache sound?” The recipe was burning a hole in Lacey’s pocket. And Felicity’s words,
It takes a little effort,
terrified her. But Vic would help. He had helped her the last time.

“With pink icing?” Nadine inquired.

“What else?” Lacey linked her arm in Vic’s. “I wouldn’t dream of making it without Vic. He comes in handy when there’s cake batter on the ceiling.”

Nadine kissed Vic on the cheek. Mission accomplished. “I can’t imagine what you two must be doing to get cake batter on the ceiling. Ah, young love.”

They watched Nadine drive away in her big pink Caddie.

“You said you would never use Felicity’s cooking,” Vic protested.

“I said I would never let her cook for me. I didn’t say a thing about not using her recipe,” Lacey said. “Besides, she just gave it to me. It was like a sign. From above.”

 

“Why did you go in today? You were supposed to be doing something restful, weren’t you?” Vic was driving Lacey’s BMW 2002. Her interrogation by Broadway Lamont hadn’t been very restful. Now Vic was covering the same ground.

Lacey closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. “Pojack called me and told me to get my ass down to
The Eye
.”

“Pojack? The victim? On a Saturday? He’s the one who wanted to let you go, right?”

“I guess I don’t have to worry about that at the moment. You’re right, it doesn’t make sense that he’d fire me on a Saturday. But you never know. He was, as Wiedemeyer would say, a sneaky bastard.” Lacey yawned. “Claudia told me he jumped the gun on the whole Crystal City announcement. I’d already spread that juicy news bite like a brush fire. So maybe he wanted to get rid of me in a hurry. But he doesn’t seem like the type to want a face-to-face confrontation. He’s a weasel. Was a weasel.”